


hurricane

by Laeana



Series: and winter never seemed cold [2]
Category: Biathlon RPF
Genre: Boys Kissing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Insecurity, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Talking, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:08:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29827515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeana/pseuds/Laeana
Summary: " Oh, you were my hurricane'Cause in your eyes, I felt so safe "Emilien pays a visit to Quentin so that they can have a proper talk.
Relationships: Quentin Fillon Maillet/Emilien Jacquelin
Series: and winter never seemed cold [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2192715
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	hurricane

**Author's Note:**

> (hurricane by anson seabra)

Quentin avoids him. Emilien knows he deserved it, one way or another, that doesn't stop the annoyance he feels. A buzzy feeling in his chest, unbearable. He wants more, they need to talk after all. They need to explain things properly. He was a fool to dive back in, but he figured he probably wasn't the only one who felt that way… right ?

Hope will eventually kill him one day. He knows it, fatalistically.

It’s so easy, way too easy, for them not to cross paths when the competitions are not taking place. In truth, they always made sure to schedule visits or times for them to see each other. To spend some time together. When their relationship was going well, alongside everything.

It's silly to expect everything to restart like in good weather. When it's both their fault. When they both did wrong.

Months earlier, more innocent, more naive, wanting and wanting each other so much. Without worrying about anything else. Without thinking about anything else. They almost seemed to be afraid of the fire that was slowly starting to burn in their chests.

The breakup, the arguments, a much more unstable bond than before. 

And simply give in to impulses when they see each other again in national competition.

It was meant to be everything, it was meant to be all that was left of them. Nothing more, nothing less. Them. But Emilien finds himself wanting so much more. He thinks they both have a right to have more.

He wants the evenings together, in the same bed, and the slow awakenings, the first kisses, the tired smiles. He wants meals together, lazy breakfasts and lunches in the sun and dinners in the shade of a candle-lit living room. He wants walks, without always having a word to say, he wants the routine that sets in and the time that passes without realizing it. He wants to make love, not just have sex.

He is an envelope of several desires which only ask to be realized. All of them. But it's hard not being able to talk about it, not being able to know if he's the only one who longs for more in a relationship that was once a dead end for both of them.

Quentin doesn’t respond to his messages or his calls.

He knows where he lives and, having more than a week between the end of the championships and the next step, he decides to allow himself a day or two to go see him. It may be a bad gesture, but he has to do so. The length of his stay will depend on what happens there, but at least he can free himself from something that weighs a little too much on him.

He parks close to the older man's house and takes a deep breath, trying to cheer himself up. His mind was blank throughout the journey, focused on the road to think of nothing else. He doesn't know what's going to happen and he doesn't know how his teammate will react. He might not want to see him. He might react badly to his presence. That’s a bit scary, he tries to get rid of his apprehension.

He rings the doorbell and his heart swerves when a girl opens the door. Surprised, before smiling at him and inviting him to come in :

“You must be Emilien, isn't it ? I'll go get Quentin, make yourself at home in the meantime !”

She's … pretty nice. This is his first thought. He looks down at his clenched fist. He already regrets having come. Why did he come ? Why did he have so many hopes ? Of all imaginable scenarios, he hadn't thought of this one. She disappears into a hallway, moving around the house as if she owns it.

Maybe she does. 

He closes his eyes. He also knows the house well, he has been there several times. He has come here as much as his teammate came to his house. She must have gone to Quentin's studio, at the back of the building. He spent a lot of time there and sometimes showed him the rifle plans he had drawn with a skillful hand.

He stands in the middle of the living room, wondering if it would not be better to leave, right now, while there is still time. He dreads the rest, he is not sure that he is ready to hear the truth. He doesn’t think his heart will take it. It’s too much. It looks like his trip will be even shorter than expected. 

He hears a noise, a sign that it’s too late to flee. Footsteps towards him. 

Quentin and the woman come back. She has her coat in her hands and smiles again, before leaning in to kiss the other biathlete’s cheek.

“See you later, cupcake !”

Silence still hangs in the room, until the front door slams loudly. Quentin clears his throat.

“What are you doing here, Emilien ?”

“I …”

He looks down again. He's not sure he can meet his gaze. His confidence vanished on the porch. Vanished when he met the gaze of the woman who just left. Cruising all of his hopes, again. He can't believe it, doesn't want to believe it but he just had all the evidence laid out.

His lover may very well live without him and have a decent life, a girlfriend. The fact that he cannot live without him is only derisory, if it is not reciprocal. He can't force himself into someone's life, that's not how things work. No matter how much he would love it to happen.

And if he really loves Quentin … oh, he loves him. So that's it. That's the reason for everything. That’s why his chest is hurting so much right now. He realized it too late, way too late, and his feelings have nowhere to go. He feels jealous, sick, desperate. 

If he loves him then he should want his happiness. He would want him happy, more than anything else. And the other Frenchman is clearly happy without him, without his pathetic and miserable confession, without their evenings and mornings spent together, without routine, without him. He is fine.

It shouldn't be that surprising. They never said that the other was not free to look elsewhere. To find someone else to share their life with. 

“Drop it.”

He turns away, bites his lip and walks towards the exit. That's all he can do now, that's what he has to do. It doesn’t matter how much he’s hurt deep down, he’s doing the right thing.

“I can't believe you came here, that you came to me for nothing.”

Quentin's words almost seem to echo off the walls. Emilien freezes when he hears them, a knot in his throat. He feels so miserable but he refuses to cry. It’s such a different form of unhappiness than losing a race. No, next to it, losing a race seems ridiculous to him. He's in a lot more pain this very moment. He feels terrible. His heart seems ready to burst.

“I had to see you, I had to … you were avoiding me lately and I needed to know why. I couldn't … I wanted to see you so badly, but you don't need me apparently.”

His voice is choked. The last words struggled to come out. He doesn't think he can say anything more, otherwise he'll let out a sob. And that’s the last thing he wants to do.

“What makes you say that ? Emil', I'm sorry I walked away, but I really …”

“The girl.”

He has a shaky breath after that sentence and he tries to contain his emotion. He struggles to succeed. He brings a hand to his face, covering his eyes. He can no longer regain normal breathing, even if that’s all he tries to do. 

“Emil', my love, please.”

He hasn't even heard Quentin move and he doesn't want to take his hand away. He doesn't want him to see how pathetic he is. Wrecked and inconsolable, broken-hearted. He feels his eyes wet. 

“She was just a friend nothing more, she doesn't mean the same to me as you do.”

The older man's arms close around him. And the position should be uncomfortable for him, because he's taller, but instead he takes the opportunity to hide his face in the crook of the neck of the other biathlete. His scent fills his nose and it's almost reassuring.

“I'm sorry, I just had this feeling … of forcing you into something you didn't want. Of forcing myself on you. I wanted so much to erase this sadness from your face, I wanted to comfort you, I wanted … I wanted more, Emilien. That's what scared me so much.”

“But I want more … I want so much more, I want you but I want you entirely. I don't want it to remain just meetings. I don’t want it to be shattered because we don’t talk. I want you to love me, I want to be loved … I love you, Quentin.”

Confession frees him from a burden. He almost feels able to breathe properly now. His breathing is still a bit shaky but way less than before. The situation is not as hopeless as it seemed. He can't believe it either. He didn't want to delude himself too much but what is happening right now …

“I love you too, Emil', more than anything.”

A violent sob tears at his chest as the older one steals his lips, seeking so much more. Something has broken, probably a barrier and their hands are going to explore the other's body. As if they didn't already know each other.

They've known each other a little too long, yes, and they've been together a little too long too. Even if they didn’t want to admit it, to say it out loud. That’s just how they are. Too competitive, too focused on their sport to know how to communicate properly. About this body, there is no secret, no place that Emilien doesn’t know. Eyes closed, he could retrace the curves of the one in front of him.

“I'm sorry for everything. I love you so much, Émilien Jacquelin. Damn it. Those words burned my lips when I came to see you, but I thought it wasn't possible, that it would never be possible …”

“I'm not even sure I would have believed you. No matter how much I wanted it, I was still in denial. But you managed to … to change my mind, to change me. To calm me down. To be there for me. Thank you.”

Quentin shakes his head and kisses him over and over and over again. Asking for more, asking permission, almost shy, to take off his clothes. He pushes his lover on the sofa and sits on his pelvis, removing his top himself, without further ado, undoing his companion's shirt, again one. His fingers are no longer trembling, they are confident and self-assured. They know where they are going. He knows where to lead them and he knows he can do it. He can have what he wants. This night is theirs.

He knows it will take longer for him to realize what is happening in front of his eyes. He really isn’t quite aware at the moment, too caught up in his own feelings to see.

That Quentin is really becoming his.

That he is marking his belonging to Quentin.

That they are putting a name on their relationship.

That they are becoming a couple.

That this routine is becoming theirs, really, and that this house will soon be theirs too. Everything he built and everything they built, separately and … together ? Now reunited, now far from the infancy, the awkwardness, the words rotting on their tongues, unable to come out.

The mornings will be long and lazy, he will spend them making a house his own, looking in the cupboards until he knows each location by heart, until he can reach them with closed eyes, preparing meals and having meals prepared or cooking together. Candlelight dinners, just between them. Evening doing nothing. Afternoon meeting Quentin in his studio and giving him a break and listening to him, a passion deep in his eyes, his face lit up, talking about his new plans. Also the time of the first dates or at least those labeled as such and not just as "evening between friends". They have so much time in front of them. Maybe even train together … 

Emilien can only wait impatiently for morning to come, under the dying passion of a carnal urge.

**Author's Note:**

> if you caught me giving in and writing a sequel to the first part, no you didn't <3


End file.
